#DivineHell Extra

Cerberus ran along the empty streets, dodging packs of party goers and the odd passed out person. The huge hellhound stopped to sniff the air, he was near. The right head turned to go right, the left wanted to go left, and the middle wanted to go straight ahead.

After minutes of growling, biting and snarling, Cerberus raced onwards. Petty squabbling would have to wait. The grey asphalt flew beneath the hellhound as it closed in on the target.

A tall form, wrapped in a black cloak turned to face the hound. Cerberus stopped before him, scaly tail wagging.

“What is it lad… lads?” The Grim Reaper knelt down before the hound. “Did little Timmy fall into a well again?”

The middle and left head growled while the right head slapped its paw into its forehead.

“Come to think of it, Timmy never did fall into a well.” Grim patted the middle head of the hellhound. “What is it lads, tell me.”

Cerberus lifted its paws to the side of its head, forming makeshift horns.

“Lucifer, something’s up with him. Is he in trouble again?”

The three heads nodded up and down in unison. The hound stopped to think for a moment, then drew its legs against itself and laid down on the pavement.

“Lucifer is dead?” The bony jaw dropped.

“Arf!” The three heads bared their teeth.

Grim’s bony hand jammed his jaw back up. “Not dead, I take it. Hell would be in an uproar without its leader… bound?”

“Woof!” The scaly tail thumped up and down, sending up a puff of dust.

“Bound, probably in a confined place like a closet. But why?” Grim fell silent for a moment. He lifted a finger up towards the dark sky. “Did God try to order Lucifer to be kinder to the damned?”

“Woof!”

“Reapers are neutral, we don’t mess with God or Lucifer.” The black hood fell off as Grim shook his head. He lifted his hands up in protest. “It’s their issue, find someone else.”

Cerberus pointed at itself, lifted his paws into horns again, then patted the pavement. The hellhound’s faces looked around confused, one head barked at the other as if asking for direction. The shoulders of the hound lifted up, then down.

“Minion of the devil, up here, lost and confused… Edwin?” His jaw dropped to the ground this time. Grim picked it up, brushed the dust of and jammed it back. “The young sod’s got himself mixed up in all of this? He can’t even make his way through hell, what’s he doing down there?”

Cerberus merely shrugged. Three pairs of ears lifted up and three pairs of eyes lit up. “Woof?”

“I rather like that bloke, shame if something’s happened to him.” Grim lifted his hand to his brow and shook his head. “I’m going to make a dog’s dinner out of this, but I have to do something.”

“Woof?”

“No, not food. It means I’m likely going to make things worse by intervening. Follow me, I know what to do.”

On the corner of a street populated by young party goers a young woman stood on a wooden box, waving her hands and shouting: “You’re all going to hell in a handbasket—” The street prophet fell silent as a cold blade touched her throat.

“God, I’ve got a scythe on your favourite prophet’s throat!” The Grim Reaper gritted the teeth he still had. HQ would be furious again. “Call off the oddball angel and let Lucifer do his job. I’m sure you’ve made your point.”

“I’m a favourite?” The prophet’s face brightened. “Woo hoo!”

Clad in an orange and red outfit, the angel Rowan appeared out of thin air. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists!”

One of the party goers turned his head towards the scene, but saw only the street preacher standing silent, her head oddly bent back.

“Do I get a say in this?” The street preacher looked up at The Reaper’s skeletal face. The hollow eye sockets revealed nothing of his intent.

If Grim had had flesh and muscles to move them he would have frowned. “I recall that you hijacked Hell.”

“Lucifer didn’t follow orders!” Wings unfurled behind Rowan, filling the air with a warm light.

“You can’t order a fallen angel, especially the Devil.” The Grim Reaper waved his free arm in the air. “You coerce and threaten, but you don’t hit him over the head with a holy book and shove him in a closet. That’s just wrong, man… angel.”

Rowan crossed his arms and lifted his wings higher in attempt of intimidation.

Grim stood still; he’d seen angels before while taking souls to heaven. “If Lucifer agrees to give the damned a break every century, will you leave?”

Rowan looked up, then nodded. “Upstairs agrees.” He snorted. “If the old goat bottom agrees, all’s fine.”

“Blimey, God agrees?” The scythe fell from the street preacher’s throat. Grim took a step back. “You deal with Lucifer. I have a football riot to attend to.”

The closet door opened, the sudden flash of light assaulting Edwin and Lucifer’s eyes. Rowan stepped into the opening, his arms crossed across his chest. “If you allow the damned a holiday once every decade—”

“Hundred years.” Lucifer spat the words.

“Alrighty, every hundred years, I’ll leave and not come back unless ordered to.” The angel cocked his head and lifted his brow, waiting for an answer.

“If you ever show your face here again, I will have the demons chop off your wings and use them to clean the soot of the walls,” Lucifer’s dark eyes glittered as he imagined the scene, “and play basketball with that pretty little head of yours.”

“Fine.” Rowan pulled out a small knife and sliced through the ropes binding Edwin. He gave the youngster a dark look. “Shove me against a wall again and you will have no business knocking on heaven’s door.”

“I work for him.” Edwin glanced at the fuming Lucifer. “I think I lost the chance for eternal life in the clouds when I signed.”

“Ever heard of repenting? God forgives.” Rowan placed the knife in Edwin’s hand. “I’m off.”

Edwin cut Lucifer’s ropes and got up to leave, when the Boss’s cold voice made him turn around. “Edwin, what were you doing down here?”

“Oh, nothing, just stopping by.” He swallowed hard; now was not the time to point out the fact that he didn’t get paid enough.

“I doubt that.” The Devil flexed his sore arms, clawed fingers extended towards the roof. “Now, Edwin I have a job for you. Find a way to make that angel pay for what he did.”

All colour fled Edwin’s face and his jaw dropped. He’d do it, it was his job and Lucifer had gotten him out of the Loony Bin. Even Hell was better than that.

#DivineHell: Treachery

We've reached the end. Hope you enjoyed the five circles of Hell. Ya’ll come back now, y’hear?

“Lucifer is in his office. I wouldn’t disturb him I were you.” Rowan shot Edwin an annoyed glance.

“Oh god, shut up.” Edwin’s fingers curled around the doorknob, shaped like a demons head.

“Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain!” The Tour Guide bellowed in anger.

“What?“ As he turned around, a thick book with a cross embedded on the cover smashed into his face.

Something moved in the darkness of the closet. “Sir?”

“God demanded that the damned have a day off once in a while. I disagreed. Rowan shows up, then I wake here.” Lucifer shifted into a more comfortable position. “Now that he’s ruined my life’s work he’s posing as a bloody Tour Guide! It was supposed to be damnation without relief!”

“I though you and God had an agreement. How do we—“ A sharp glance from the Devil silenced Edwin.

“We wait until Cerberus finds help.”

#DivineHell: Violence

Welcome to the Seventh Circle. There's no turning back now :)

“Listen to me!” Edwin’s pale face had reddened from the shouting. “I am not one of the damned!”

Rowan’s brow furrowed, lines appearing on his forehead. “Well, what are you then?”

“An above ground employee.” He buried his face in his hands. “Now, please take me to Lucifer. I have a message for him.”

“You’re lying to get out of your punishment.” Rowan flung an accusing finger at Edwin, who returned it with a flat stare.

“You - asked for this.” Fear was written clearly on Rowan’s face as he hit the wall. Edwin’s free hand was drawn back, fingers in a tight fist.

Eyes wide Rowan uttered: “You wouldn’t dare.”

Leisurely Edwin’s fingers curled around The Tour Guide’s throat. “I work part-time for the Devil.”

Rowan looked down, then up. This was not what he had signed up for. “Alright! I’ll take you to Lucifer!”

#DivineHell: Fraud

DivineHell challenge continues. Congratulations for making it this far down :)

The Tour Guide waved his hand in greeting. “Ah, hello Edwin, did you find your level?”

“I'm not—” Edwin sighed wearily. “What’s happened to the punishments of the damned?”

“The Boss decided the damned needed a little break.” The smile on Rowan’s round face was innocent.

“What?” Edwin’s jaw dropped. Slowly an expression of realisation crept across his face. “You don’t work here, do you?”

“Of course I work for the devil.” Behind his back Rowan crossed his fingers. “You calling me a fraud?”

Edwin crossed his arms across his chest. “Well, what’s the devil’s favourite song?”

Rowan’s face went utterly blank. “March of Mephisto?”

“Yes, you’re right…” Edwin said. No, he thought. What the hell was going on? Lucifer loved “Fire” by Arthur Brown. He always started the day by shouting “I am the god of hellfire!”, everyone knew that. He would get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

#DivineHell: Heresy

Second part of the DivineHell challenge. The tour of Hell continues…

The Tour Guide of Hell fanned himself with the list of the damned and their punishments as he walked downwards. Stopping at the lip of a pit he waved his hand and said: “And here are the heretics.”

“God is dead!” A solitary fist rose from the dimness.

“Well then, who put you in here?” Rowan pushed a young man in a cape and pointed hat into the pit. “Off you go, pagan.”

The youngster stumbled down; once he regained equilibrium he threw off his hat and stepped on it. “I died while live-roleplaying, I’m not a real heretic!”

“That’s what they all say!” He shouted over his shoulder. “Now, begin writing the Hail Marys. You’ve got plenty of work to do before the end of times.”

A damned lifted his hand. “What happened to the flaming tombs?”

“Are you complaining about your punishment? They were a bit of an overkill.”

#DivineHell: Limbo

Lady Antimony continues to supply us with fun challenges. This week is all about Hell, burn, baby, burn! Unfortunately, I don't seem to be able to write seriously about Hell, death, or things of that nature. But I hope you like it anyway :)

“Welcome to Limbo, the first circle of Hell! I am Rowan, the Tour Guide of Hell,” a man in bright red and orange bellowed. “I’m sure you’re all excited to be here.”

Silence filled the room to the brim; a few of the damned ones shuffled their feet as they cast wary glances at each other.

“So glad to see so many happy faces.” The tour guide grabbed one of the damned by the shoulder. “You’re one of the lucky ones moving downwards. What’s your name and how did you end up here?”

“Edwin, I think I took a wrong turn…”

“Don’t they all, walk right off the straight and narrow.” He shoved Edwin towards the gaping black hole. Before it someone had placed two sticks supporting a low-lying pole. “Now go ahead, do the dance. I’ll see you down below when you’re through having fun!”

From the Depths from Haunted Waters Press

The Winter 2011 issue of From the Depths, a quarterly literary journal from Haunted Waters Press, is now available. This first issue of From the Depths features poetry, flash fiction and short stories and “pays tribute to water, the source of our inspiration.” It contains a piece of flash fiction called “Thalassa” (p. 21), my first published story. I hope you like it and the other works. I think the people at HWP did a splendid job with the design and the layout.

You can read the journal below by clicking at the Expand button or at Issuu.

Open publication - Free publishing

AntimonyAntics: The Proposal

Late as always, but here's my entry to Lady Antimony's AntimonyAntics challenge. It's another story on virra birds, “the rats of the sky” as they are known in Verannia. Please visit the other blogs too.

The lid of a box flew open, followed by a yellow coin and another. The bird dug deeper into the box. There had to be something of value here. Picking the lock with a stick had been hard enough. There had to be something here worth grain.

“Interesting.” The virra-bird flicked open the little box. Inside was a ring cushioned by a soft fabric, and a crumpled note. The bird placed a foot atop the paper and pulled it open with its beak. “Veeery interesting.”

The virra bird beat its tiny wings as fast it could, zigzagging past people. “Knowledge for grain!”

“Shut up, blabbermouth! I’ll pay you to be quiet!” Errol ran after the bird, arms stretched out to catch the nuisance.

“Knowledge for grain! Errol the merchant is going to propose to Ellie! I know the words he’s going to say.”

“Here, bird.” A soft voice called. The bird landed on Ellie’s palm and began pecking at the seeds. She looked at Errol, mischief glinting in her eyes. ”Well , how is he going to propose to me?”

Half a seed fell from the grey beak. ”He wants your arms to cradle his children, your kisses heal any ailment and you’ve got a nice ar—”

“Shut up, bird! That wasn’t on the note!” Errol reached for the bird, but Ellie caught his hand in hers.

“I do.” she said, dropping the grains and the bird. “Though you can propose properly back home.”

TuesdayTales 16 on Glitterlady's Blog

Read the other stories and take part in the challenge here.

I watch the men untangle their nets and curse when they find a hole big enough for a dolphin to escape. A smile crosses my face as I stand up; the last time I cut their traps they caught me and kept me whelved under a boat while the guards were coming to fetch to me. This time they could only curse and accuse me.

One of the men stands up and waves his hand at me. I can make out the words “go away” and “abomination”. I happily oblige, exchanging the view of the vast ocean for a sea of dewy grass. The breath of the ocean still lingers; I catch a drop on the tip of my finger and lift it to my parched lips. The sea itself is forbidden to me, for I dared to love one of its beings. Dared to…

My sweetling cannot exist above the waves and I cannot abandon the ones who raised me, my friends, those who need me. The humans try to force me to choose, but why should a shapeshifter choose between earth and sea, when he can have both?

Creatures of Verannia: Shapeshifters, Part 1

Continuation to my “encyclopedia” of Verannian beings that started with wurmtail hounds and dragons.

Besides humans and vrildrias, shapeshifters are one of the three peoples inhabiting Verannia. They are beings that are, in principle, capable of taking the form of any living being. The change goes deeper than appearances: the shapeshifter gains access to all of the form’s senses and abilities. However, spending a long in time in a certain form slowly makes the shapeshifter more and more like the form. If you run with the wolves or fly with the dragons, you become like one. If you spend your days filtering food from the water flowing through you, you slowly lose interest in everything else. Taking the form of a non-sentient being can be dangerous, because the shapeshifter may become trapped in the form.

Most shapeshifters have a certain form they prefer, and that form may or may not be human. The “true form” resembles their nature, feels right and corresponds with their aesthetics. The true form is chosen during adolescence. When a young shapeshifter has chosen and become comfortable with a form, he or she is considered an adult. Some spend most of their lives in animal form, living like the animal whose form they have chosen. These shapeshifters are sometimes pejoratively called feral shapeshifters or simply ferals, as opposed to the ‘more civilized’ domestic shapeshifters (also a pejorative term used by humans), who live among their own kind or among humans. For shapeshifters, it is not uncommon or unnatural to breed with members of another species. For example, a shapeshifter living among dragons may breed with a dragon. As a result, shapeshifters may have very curious family trees.

However, over many generations of crossbreeding, the shapeshifting ability may diminish in the lineage. Mixed-species heritage also makes finding a suitable partner very hard, because shapeshifters of different heritage may be unable to have children together. When choosing a partner, shapeshifters rely first on appearances. Though the shapeshifter form hides much, it can also reveal things to other shapeshifters. Colours and details added to their appearance tell of the shapeshifter’s values, way of life and heritage. For example, a shapeshifter with a dragon heritage may have scales adorning their face.

According to Verannian law, should a shapeshifter choose a human form, he or she must still be easily distinguishable as non-human. For that reason, they can be quite bizarre-looking. For centuries, humans have accused shapeshifters of ‘shape stealing’, the act of taking the form of a person without his or her will. Although these accusations are probably not without ground, many shapeshifters have been killed for crimes they did not commit.

GhoulsGalore: The Mouth

Fourth and last entry to Lady Antimony's GhoulsGalore challenge. Yes, it's late but here it is anyway. This week you got to choose your monster and I chose one of my own... The Mouth! Hope you like it.

I am The Mouth, that is all I need, all I am, the monster thought as it rose from its slumber. Tentacles flexed, snaking their way through the soft, moist earth of the swamp. Its huge maw opened wide, wider than the mouth of any creature on earth or sea. It had been centuries since the last time it had been awake.

From below a borborygmic sound made its way above the green waters. A bird shrieked and flew over the circle of curving teeth, where a black tongue twisted. The monster’s stomach rumbled again.

I hunger.

The Mouth strained its senses, but nothing worthy was near, only small insignificant creatures. The monster spread it tentacles further where the earth became harder and the roots of trees blocked the way.

At last it felt steps. Closer and closer they came, slow, tentative. The prey came closer, drawn by curiosity perhaps. Salivating, the Mouth waited for its prey, green drool dripping down its heaving sides. Just a little nearer...

The tentacle curled around an ankle and lifted the hapless being into the air. Screaming and squirming, the meal fought, but in vain. The Mouth lifted another tentacle, feeling the prey. It was shaped like a man.

Oohh, a human.

Without a second thought The Mouth dropped the man into its maw, where he was slowly dissolved by the stomach acid. When nothing else was left, The Mouth spat out the bones. Satisfied, the monster spread its tentacles and waited for the next prey to come.

GhoulsGalore: Damnation

This week's entry to Lady Antimony's GhoulsGalore challenge.

Clawed fingers caressed the black rock; it was alive, heat emanating from the red veins. Fire ran through the walls, floor and the arching roof. The blue sky was unknown here in the chthonic realm.

He could hear the damned begging for mercy while his servants shepherded them onwards. Their pleas would quickly change into the beautiful music of screaming. He hurried on, eager to witness his loyal minions at work.

Slowly he walked past the pits were the sinners burned, and the sight he most enjoyed watching: his favourite demon hunting down and eating the damned. The demon would later regurgitate the poor souls and eat them again.

Yes, life was good in Hell.

Before he fell there had been Hell, but none to rule it. Demons fought each other while sinners ran amok. He cast the sinners down. He defeated the droves of demons. He became the overlord of the underworld. He might have fallen, but he rose as a master.

“What does God have but wisps of air, placid happiness and feeble servants?” Lucifer folded his leathery wings around himself. Loud snoring filled the air.

GhoulsGalore: Presence

This is my first entry to Lady Antimony's GhoulsGalore challenge. For every week in October, there's a word and a being, and you write a story of 250 words. This week the word was 'boustrophedonic' and the being a poltergeist.

The slender fingers ran across the words written in boustrophedonic fashion. From right to left, then left to right, the archaeologist read them in her mind. The site had an otherworldly feel; it belonged to another era, its inhabitants long gone. She could almost imagine whispers on the faint wind.

Speak. Speak the words, it seemed to say. A rock rolled to her feet. She whispered one of the words, a tremor of excitement running through her. They had deciphered some of the meanings. It seemed to be a guide or a map, but a symbolic one; it spoke of stars, darkness and signs left by the gods.

Speak the words. I need to find a way out.

Another rock rolled down into the ruins. Were her comrades playing a joke on her?

Please don’t leave me here!

She walked back out into the humid air and tangle of strange plants, but the chill of the shadow cast by the wall clung to her. One of her colleagues ran up to her, his face distorted by disbelief and anger.

“The bloody idiots cut off our funding! We’ll leave in a couple of weeks.”

“Maybe it’s best,” she whispered. Upon entering the site she had felt dread. With every day, the feeling had grown deeper. There was something amiss in this place, something stamped its presence here.

Friday Flash: The Two Dragons

This is the end of Fain and Nuria's tale, a series of seven Friday Flash stories that began with The Hands of the Healer. Unfortunately, the story is getting close to the events of the book I'm writing, so I can't continue with Fain any further. Instead I'm going to write about what happens to Nuria, who has only a minor role in my first book. After a little break, that is.

The sun’s warmth settled on Fain’s back and shoulders as he nibbled on a piece of cured meat. The flavour and the warmth were lost on him; his mind was elsewhere. Just as he and the other shapeshifters were leaving for the Nesting grounds, Stiv, one of the elders had shoved a bound and gagged shapeshifter in front of them. He’d burst into laughter: the shapeshifter was Jark.

“Jark revealed the Queen your route to the dragon’s nesting grounds. Luckily all virras are greedy little blabbermouths, and the virra he sent betrayed him.” The Elder looked at the now silent Fain. “Seems like he wanted to sell you to the Queen.”

They took an alternative route through a gorge in the Argent Mountains. The terrain was rougher and the going slower, but safer; the only dangers were huge birds that roosted in the mountains and at night lesser demons, remnants of the wars. Neither were a match for a healthy, adult shapeshifter.

The party settled down to rest and to give their prisoner his dose of poison, the only way of keeping him weak enough not change his shape.

Fain finished his meal, took a wooden cup, a waterskin and pouch of crushed leaves out of a bag. Just a pinch of the leaves was enough, too much and Jark would have to be carried or worse, die.

He poured the water on the leaves, mixing the liquid with a twig. Carefully he carried the cup to Jark and removed his gag. Lifting the cup to his mouth Fain whispered: “I am sorry.”

Jark didn’t answer. He drank the liquid slowly, while staring at Fain; hate, colder than the permafrost of the north, glinted in his blue eyes.

“They’re going to give you to the dragons. They’ll likely eat you. I could give you an overdose if you prefer a quick and painless—”

“I would rather be eaten alive by dragons than killed by you.”

Fain opened his mouth to speak, when he heard shouting: a dragon was circling overhead. He looked upwards; the dragon was dark in colour and too bulky to be a female. Jark had noticed as well. “One of yours?”

Fain swallowed, the dragon had stopped circling and dropped downwards, disappearing from view. As the scrape of claws drew closer, the other shapeshifters changed into their battle forms. He followed suit, changing into a fool’s dragon. The dragon was met by a drake, a huge wolf with large teeth protruding from its snout, and other forms too weak to defeat a dragon. They could only hope that the dragon had mistaken them for prey.

A massive head appeared above the gorge, the tips of black wings swaying on each side as the dragon balanced.

“I am Rhorat, son of Garroth,” it bellowed. “The Queen beckons me to bring her the one called Fain.”

Fear washed over Fain, while next to him Jark smiled.

“Go back south, Rhorat!” Ragh shouted upwards; the dragon snorted.

“A drake commanding a dragon?” Rhorat’s nostrils flared as it drew a deep breath. “You cannot hide him. I know Fain is part dragon, I can smell him amidst you.”

The blunt snout came down into the gorge, black forked tongue sliding against white teeth as the nostrils opened and closed in rhythm to the sniffing. Fain shrank against the cliff-face. The dragon scoffed, a belch of sulphurous breath encased the shapeshifters.

“Come with me, Fain, and I will not eat your friends.” The dragon’s voice was quiet and soft. Fain stepped forwards from the cliff face; he wouldn’t surrender but neither would he endanger his friends.

Wings spread he flew past the maw of the dragon and into the sky. Roaring with fury, Rhorat followed, fire erupting from its maw. With ease, the dragon caught him, claws encasing the shapeshifter in fool’s dragon form. He struggled, but the claws held him firm.

An angered cry pierced the sky. The claws retracted, leaving Fain floating for a moment. Wings cast wide, he glided on the ground and looked up to see a big red dragon entangled in battle with Rhorat.

Flames burst from Alhena’s jaws, charring Rhorat’s wing. The black dragon struck its claws into Alhena’s wings and pulled downwards, leaving tears in their wake. Both began to lose altitude as their wounded wings failed to carry them.

Fain watched in horror as the dragons fought, still entwined, scratching and biting as the ground neared.

“Alhena!”

The red dragon spread its wings wide, the air caught in the folds pushed her upwards. Rhorat released his grip, wings expanding from his sides, but the ground hit him before his wings could unfold. Alhena slammed onto the ground. Slowly she rolled onto her feet and ran shakily to the shapeshifter.

“Change into something small!” Fain obeyed, shrinking into a mouse. Alhena’s scaly foot came down, stopping a few inches above him. Beneath him the earth trembled as the black dragon got up.

“Queen Yassa needs the shapeshifter they call Fain. She will find him sooner or later.” Rhorat hissed.

Alhena didn’t answer; she stood still, teeth bared until the dragon slunk away to nurse its wounds. She lifted her foot, allowing Fain to change.

“Scarla is coming, she will take care of your friends. I will take you back to the village—”

“No.” He stood silent for a moment. He couldn’t go back the village, Queen Yassa would send Rhorat and others. He couldn’t risk Nuria getting hurt because of him. Why did she want him bad enough to send a dragon?

He didn’t ask Alhena, but instead said: “Take me to the Weeping Woods, there are shapeshifters there who fight the Queen. Perhaps they can help.”

Alhena nodded slowly. She lay flat as Fain climbed on to her wide back. Alhena stood up and folded her wounded wings. Tired and beaten, they began their journey south.

DiceGames: The Queen of the Vrildrias

My last entry to Lady Antimony's DiceGames challenge. For this week, I rolled number four: “Make a deal with the Devil.” I know, it's late but here it is anyway :)

The thick stone walls failed to keep the warmth of the fireplace from fleeing, but they trapped the chanting and the screams inside the room. Neither would have been needed if her daughter had been able to summon the greater demons. The mingling smells of incense and sulphur assaulted Queen Yassa’s nose; lesser demons often tried to impress their summoners with smells, sounds and a frightful appearance, but they fooled no one.

“No luck, Luerra?” Yassa, Queen of the vrildrias, growled to her daughter. Luerra shook her head, clawed fingers clutching a black staff. The whelp couldn’t even perform magic without a tool.

“I have not found one suitable, mother.” Luerra’s maw opened into a wicked grin, baring rows of tiny sharp teeth. “They all want to tear their victim to pieces. An assassin could create a seemingly natural death.”

Yassa toyed with the idea for a moment; it would be easier. She already had assassins at her beckoning. “And when the mages find that he was poisoned? No, we need magic stronger than theirs, one of the greater demons.”

Luerra spat on to the rough stones, the vile sound echoing as she cursed: “Stupid humans and our stupid ancestors. Peace with the humans is not worth sharing power.”

“The King of Humans wants to decide what to do with the virra-birds spying on the meetings.” The vrildria Queen placed a hand on a statue of their god, claws clicking against the smooth surface. “Such a trivial matter. If I were the sole ruler the Kingdom would prosper. Instead we toil at these petty issues.”

“Queen of vrildrias and humans.” The flicker of excitement in Luerra’s eyes made her skin crawl. “If not in your time mother, maybe in mine…”

“Do not think of using my tricks on me, daughter.” Wrinkling her sharp snout, Yassa lifted her head. “I can smell betrayal.”

Can you smell opportunity as well?

Yassa froze; her daughter had betrayed her. She wasn’t as stupid as she’d seemed, but had managed to summon one of the greater demons and had commanded it to kill her. She would make such a good ruler.

No, no, no. I am not a demon, but more.

“Vixi.” Luerra breathed the name into the heavy air. Silence fell; both could feel the cold presence of the deity, the smell of death and decay lingering, mixing with the sulphur and incense.

“Oh, our deity speaks to us.” Yassa’s hand gently caressed the statue of the god of death, a winged snake arched into an S-shape. “Don’t we usually pray for 17 days, months or years?”

I have need of a loyal servant.

“I am no one’s servant.”

Forgive me. I am in need of someone loyal who can wield power on my behest.

“Better.” She watched as her daughter poked the statue with the black staff. Her thought returned to the source of the voice. “What can you offer me?”

A god can offer you anything.

“The King’s death would be most satisfactory.” She swiped the black staff away; her daughter recoiled, hissing and baring her teeth. A glance was enough to defuse the whelp’s anger.

He will die.

“I need to stay in power if I am to be of use.”

Yes. There will be demons running amok and you are the only one who can keep them out of the city.

“Queen Yassa, the only one between annihilation and survival.” Her musings were abruptly disrupted by a scoff. She turned to her daughter; a stupid grin graced her long face.

“Your magic is weaker than mine and everyone knows it.” Luerra leaned on her staff. She muttered a word; sparks shot out of from the tip of the staff. “I may need a staff for my spells, but you can’t wield a simple flash spell.”

“True.” Yassa scratched her throat thoughtfully. Her daughter was weak of will and could practise magic, a good pawn.

Call forth my minions 17 days after the King is dead. It is the beginning of my work. Once finished, you shall rule unchallenged.

Yassa smiled as she left her daughters chambers, reveries of her reign filling her with dark joy.

Alone now, Luerra listened as the god spoke, only to her.

Your mother’s reign will be short; do not cry when it is over. I shall need you then.

She’d always known her mother reign would not be long. The humans tolerated a vrildria queen; it was the only way for the two species to coexist peacefully. But as the sole ruler? No, there would be a revolt, demons at their doorstep or not.

“Thank you for answering my prayers,” she whispered, bowing her head. She would kill her mother herself if the deity asked for it.

Friday Flash: Ashes and Embers

Second to last. Continuation to The Trap.

The shapeshifter child sat huddled against a corner, the only thing left of the burnt house. Ashes and the smell of sulphur floated in the surrounding air. Somewhere a woman laughed: a shrill sound, cutting through the heavy silence. His hands lifted to shield his ears, but he could still hear her.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Something was circling the corner and him. Claws scraped against wood behind him. Before he could bolt, something heavy hit his back, pinning him down against the sooty earth.

“Please don’t kill me.” He whispered, he could feel the breath of the creature upon his face.

“Is death the worst you can think of?” The creature’s claws slipped beneath his skin. His sense of self began to slip away as the demon imposed it’s will upon his. He screamed in fear and agony.

A sharp jab to his side woke him.

“If I can’t sleep, why should you?” His partner Nuria stood beside him, her foot nudging him. “Awake, are we?”

“I wasn’t sleeping, I was having a nightmare.” Fain lifted himself into a sitting position. He could still feel the demon’s claws beneath his skin. “Thank you for waking me up.”

“You’re welcome.” She sat down next to him, placing a dusky hand on his pale arm. “The burning houses again?”

“They were burnt down this time and I heard a woman laughing.” He shivered at the memory. “And one of the demons possessed me.”

She gently pulled him close, running her fingers through his hair as she whispered comforting words. Yet they weren’t enough to calm him.

“I am afraid.” He looked up into her eyes, wrought with worry. “I’ve began to jump when I see my own shadow. I can’t protect the dragons if I am terrified all of the time.”

“I’m worried about you, dear. Not just your nightmares.” He tried to turn his gaze away, but her hands cupped his chin, holding his face to hers. “Jark’s words shouldn’t have angered you so—”

“He called the black dragons evil!” He wrenched himself free from her arms, grabbed some clothes and walked into the other room, dressing quickly.

She followed on his heels. “He angered you on purpose! He wants you exiled because he hates you!”

“I know, I ran headfirst in to his trap.” Fully dressed now, Fain was headed for the door. His hands were about to pull it open when Nuria’s arms wrapped around his waist. She lifted him off his feet and proceeded to half drag, half carry him back into the bedroom.

“You are not going anywhere. We wait for the Elders’ decision here!” She dropped him on the furs that acted as a bed. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for your temper.”

”Forget about Jark the Jerk, for a moment.” Fain stood up, black scales covered his throat and his teeth had grown in to fangs. “What if I’m remembering my past? How can I stop it? If my childhood was demons and torture I do not want to know. Please help me forget somehow!”

Nuria stepped forwards, one hand held his cheek while the other trailed the black scales. He saw her flinch at the heat emanating from the scales; there was some of the fire of the dragons in him. His eyes closed, the fangs retracted into stubby human teeth and the scales began to fade.

“If they do exile me, we’ll just go to my village.” He opened his eyes slowly, pondering his next words. “You are still coming with me?”

“How do you dare?” She gently slapped his cheek. “Of course I am coming with you! I love you, you rarfnigan.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Fain placed a finger on her lips.

“I do not want to dwell on it or my nightmares any more than necessary, my love.” He gazed for a moment into her dark brown eyes, then kissed her. Her arms curled around him so tightly that he gasped; “Can’t breathe dear.”

A knock on the door interrupted their moment. Nuria broke the embrace and walked to the door, while Fain waited in the shadow of a corner.

Lizell stood there; she’d donned a tall human’s form, but with a rainbow of feathers instead of hair.

“Fain of the Leatherwing Tribe, the Elders have decided your punishment. You are forbidden to take the fool’s dragon form within the village unless it is under attack.” She rolled her yellow eyes up, then back to Fain. ”If you do not comply, you will be exiled.” The shapeshifter grinned a wicked smile. “Don’t worry, Jark got punished as well. He’ll be cleaning the dragon nests.”

“He should’ve been sent to the black dragons’ nesting grounds.” He ran a dark claw along his throat, leaving behind a white scar, which healed as he drew it. “They would have had fun with him.”

“Fain, keep you darker side in check.” Lizell shook her head. ”Most of us care for you. We don’t want to see you exiled.”

Jark held the little brown bird close to his mouth as he whispered his message.

“Tell this to the Queen and she will reward you, little virra.”

“Double what you gave me?” The bird squeaked.

“Even more, but do not gossip, though it is your second nature. The Queen does not like her plans spilled.” The bird flew off into the dark sky, disappearing without a trace.

The Elders wouldn’t exile Fain, but he had another plan. The Queen had sent virras to shapeshifter villages, requesting strong shapeshifters for her studies; if the rumours were true they included demons. He was only glad to oblige.

Once Fain and the others set for the nesting grounds, the Queen’s men would intercept them and capture him, and only him.

Silent as a shadow he sneaked back into the village.

DiceGames: Death on the Doorstep

A bit late, but here it is: my third entry to Lady Antimony's DiceGames challenge. Again, I rolled number one: "Death just knocked at your door - convince him why you shouldn't die yet."

Silence had fallen, the world outside held its breath waiting for the knock to be answered. The door opened with a loud creak, a round face peeked through. “Yes?”

A solitary hooded figure stood still in the doorway. Behind it thunderheads rolled in front of the sun, enveloping the world in twilight.

“My name is Reaper, Grim Reaper.” The air grew cooler with the words, frost gathering in the doorframe. “Jason Thorne, I have come for you.”

“Are you sure?” Jason furrowed his brow; his lifestyle was unhealthy, but this was ridiculous.

A white skeletal hand appeared from the folds of the black robe, fingers clutching an old parchment. A thin finger ran across the list of names before settling on one.

“Yes. The gates of hell lie open before you…”

Behind Jason the clock struck five.

“Oh, it’s tea time.” The Grim Reaper walked past, straight to the rickety table. “Pour me a cup will you, dearie.”

Jason rummaged the top shelf for his roommate’s mother’s tea set. They were pink and with lilac flowers; The Reaper seemed delighted.

“Oh, I love flowers; they die ever so quickly, mind you.” Jason watched as the bony fingers grasped the handle of the teapot and poured the brown liquid into a small cup. “So, how’s life been treating you?”

He stared for a moment as the Reaper poured tea into his mouth, all of it ending up on the front of his robe. The Reaper cocked its skull inquisitively. “Up to now, well. I have a roof on top my head, my health—”

The Reaper scoffed at this.

“Why did you come for me?” Jason hadn’t touched his tea. The Reaper snatched Jason’s cup and drank it, before pouring himself another.

“That’s simple. You’re dying.” A manic cackling borne from the depth of the robe echoed in the room.

“But I can’t be! I haven’t lived yet.” Jason stood up sending his chair on the floor with a loud thud. “You’ve opened my eyes, I must see more of the world, experience it in all of its glory. I want to give up this fruitless effort at life and really live. See the green of the woods, smell the salt of the sea and look upon on a sunset with a loved one!”

The Reaper listened, enthralled.

“I have never even been truly in love. I have felt a woman’s touch, but no one who could gaze upon me lovingly. They were all meaningless, but now I see that life is not meant to be lived alone. Please, I beg of you Reaper, give me another shot at life!”

“Well— Oomph!” The Reaper crumbled into a heap of black fabric and bones, behind stood a lanky young man holding a bent crowbar. Jason stared at his roommate, then at the unmoving mass of black and white. When the grim reaper failed to show any signs of life, they both erupted into laughter.

“Nice, we killed Death!” Ben slapped his forehead. “Should’ve been done a long time ago!”

“We killed Death, so are we immortal now?” Jason poked The Reaper with a toe.

“Guess so.” Ben scratched his back with the crowbar. “What should we do about that?”

Jason reflected on the situation for a moment. He didn’t want to do anything stupid like jump off a cliff to test their newfound immortality. Then he knew; “Wanna go rob a bank?”

“Sure!”

An ominous rumble filled the room. Lightning stuck through the dark grey sky, sending the neighbour’s cat flying off the fence. Birds fell silent once more, lighting struck again.

The Reaper rose, a scythe in one hand, the other holding the back of his head. A low moan emanated from his bony jaws, shaking the foundations of the house.

“You fools fractured my beautiful skull!” The scythe rose. “Prepare to pay!”

The blunt end of the scythe struck Jason in the face; then the Reaper turned and struck Ben in the back of his head. Both died instantly, falling prey to the dark magic of the scythe.

The Grim Reaper crossed his arms, threw back his head and laughed heartily. No one messed with the bringer of death. Then, to his horror, he realised that the roommate wasn’t on the list. He was supposed to live a long and healthy life.

“Darn!” The Reaper struck the end of the scythe into the floor, which rotted and collapsed under the wasting touch. “HQ is going to be furious!”

The Grim Reaper gazed upon the two dead bodies; their souls were already headed towards a warmer place. He truly needed to learn how to control his temper.

Creatures of Verannia: Dragons

Having posted mostly stories lately, it was due time to write something about the creatures that inhabit Verannia, the land where my main story takes place. Previously I wrote a post about about wurmtail hounds; now is the time for dragons.

In Verannia, there are four dragon species: red, green, white and black. Red dragons are the largest and the most common type of dragon seen in Verannia, whereas the green dragons mostly live in Velara, the neighbouring kingdom to Verannia. The elusive white dragons live in the Far North, hunting seals and polar bears in the permafrost glaciers. Black dragons inhabit both Verannia and Velara.

Although all dragon species can interbreed, they rarely do so because the offspring will be weak and infertile. For this reason, interbreeding is considered a taboo amongst dragons. Dragons are solitary creatures and normally do not seek for the company of others of their kind. Encounters usually result in roaring, bursts of fire and aerial displays to intimidate the opponent.

Red, green and black male dragons live in the southern Verannia and are obsessive hoarders. They spend years gathering a hoard, fighting with other dragons, burning villages, towns and castles, and seeking for clues of lost treasures. Once satisfied with their hoard, they no longer actively seek for more treasure. Instead, they focus on guarding the hoard jealously. Male dragons love their treasures more than anything else in the world and simply guarding them indefinitely gives their lives enough meaning. Most of their time they spend half-asleep, becoming active only for the occasional clashes with other males and treasure-seekers. Old male dragons in particular have very little interest in what is happening in the outside world. Weaker male dragons that are unable to obtain a hoard of respectable size or are too weak to defend it usually fly with the females, providing them with food and trying to make an impression.

Female dragons spend most of their lives in the north and only fly south for winter to court the males. The female chooses her target based on the size of the male’s hoard; for the females, a large hoard is simply a sign of power and good health. After mating, the male stays behind to guard his hoard and the female flies back north to build a nest. Good-sized caverns are rare and often the female has to defend her claim on the cavern. Having settled down, the dragon lays her eggs (usually 3–5). The incubation takes half a year and the eggs hatch in late summer. During summer and autumn the dragonlings grow fat and gather strength for the winter.

Childhood is the most dangerous time in the life of a dragon. Dragon pups often engage in violent play that sometimes leads to injuries and even death; injured dragon pups are unlikely to survive the winter. But the other dragonlings are not the only threat the little ones face. There are also poachers and many predators to look out for. Because of the vulnerability of their young, dragons have sworn an oath with northern shapeshifters to protect each other. The shapeshifters guard the dragonlings and in return a few female dragons stay in the north for winter to protect the shapeshifters. During the Long Night, which lasts for almost two months, the sun does not rise above the horizon and the northern regions are enveloped in darkness. Having a few dragons to protect you from the nightmarish monsters that arrive with the Night greatly enhances your chances of surviving the long winter.

Friday Flash: The Trap

Only two more to go after this, then I can rest. Continuation to The Dragon Dance.

The cold wind of early spring cut into the bare skin of Jark’s hands and face, but failed to reach his mind. He’d warned Nuria not to get attached to shapeshifter found half dead in the Ice Barrens, he’d warned her again. Other’s had been found and rescued from a cold death, but they had repaid by attacking the humans who came to trade, some even attacked other shapeshifters.

Once Fain found out that he was one of the shapeshifters stolen as a child he would hate all humans. Nuria was part human. Even if he didn’t harm her, he would have to be exiled. The village depended on trade with the humans who didn’t view them as monsters. It would be better for everyone if they were rid of him.

Jark’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted when another shapeshifter ran into him. He regained balance swiftly, while the person who had run into him lay on his back. Jark was about to offer his hand to the fellow when he recognized the face. Fain.

A child appeared, touched Fain’s forehead and shouted gleefully: “Tag, you’re the hunter now!”

”I’ll get you in a moment!” he shouted. Getting up, he brushed a bit of dust off himself. ”Sorry Jark, I wasn’t paying attention. Nell was about to catch me.”

“She and the other children will miss you.” No one had had the heart to tell Fain his village had been destroyed, the fool still planned on returning to his tribe. “You will guard the reds for one more summer?”

“Yes, but we’ll return. I want everyone to meet our children someday.”

“Yes, children…” Gods, children by an abomination who guarded the evil dragons. He had to get rid of him quickly. “Once home you’re going to guard the black dragons.”

“Oh yes, I’ve seen them up close when I was young. They are so beautiful, powerful and…”

“Evil.”

Fain hid his clawed hands behind his back, but he couldn’t hide the change in his light brown eyes; they had turned a deep grey. Just as Jark had hoped, he was upset. All shapeshifters who guarded dragons were proud of theirs. “Just because a few maim and kill for their delight-”

“Do you hear yourself? You’re part black dragon, aren’t you?” He pushed Fain’s long hair off the nape of his neck to reveal black scales.

A low growl emitted from Fains throat; it ceased for a moment as he spoke. “Speak another word and I will tear your throat.”

“They should be hunted down, all of them.”

White, leathery wings grew out of Fain’s back as he fell onto his hands and knees. Bits of fabric fell to the ground as his human form was replaced by something much bigger, a fool’s dragon. He charged without warning, his dragon-like head ramming into Jark. Fain missed the smile on his face; he had ran into a trap.

Claws dug into the fool’s dragon’s long neck, the sudden weight pulling him to the ground. Jark’s polar bear form was strong, but fool’s dragons were stronger. Fain stood up, the white bear hanging on; swinging his neck sideways he managed to lose the bear.

Jark landed on his side, quickly rising to his feet. Black lips curled into a mocking smile. He waited until Fain rammed into him again. This time he slapped Fain’s head with a giant paw, then pinned his head to the ground.

He whispered into the fool’s dragon’s ear: “Your mother was a spawn of evil and you’re only slightly better.”

Fain’s eye flicked towards him, the grey iris lost in a sea of white. Roaring Fain flung his head upwards, sending Jark stumbling backwards into one of the houses. He drew a deep breath, but his senses still got the better of him. Though the buildings were enchanted against fire, you still did not breathe flames in a village of wooden buildings.

A crowd had begun to gather. The children who had played earlier now peeked from amidst their parents. Ignoring them, Fain spread his white wings, rose onto his hoofed hind legs and shook his brown mane. He trumpeted a loud battle cry and lunged forwards, sharp white fangs glistening with saliva against a backdrop of red. His teeth were about to sink into the bear’s neck when he heard an angry voice shout, “Fain, stop this instant!”

Fain’s ears flicked back and forth as he considered the order. Reluctantly he let go of the insolent shapeshifter in bear form.

“Change!” Nuria’s hands were balled into fists, her eyes shone a bright scarlet. “I will not talk to you while you’re in battle-form.”

“But I will be indecent in human form.” He lay down in front of his partner, a sign of submission with most creatures.

“Just change into something else you rarfnigan!” She grabbed him by the mane and lifted his face to hers. “Now!”

Fain shrunk into the form of a white lap dog. His big brown puppy eyes were enough to douse Nuria’s anger.

“What happened?” Her anger had found a new target. Jark lifted his great white head and growled.

“He attacked me, unprovoked.”

From the midst of the crowd a pink wolf snorted. “We all know Jark’s a troublemaker.”

“He did something to make Fain go mad!” Nell shouted, stomping with each word.

“I merely said that the evil dragons should be dealt with.” Jark cast a fearful glance at the small bundle of fluff that Fain was now. “He changed into the form you saw, a fool’s dragon. Only a drake and a dragon are stronger. He was going to kill me.”

“He insulted the good blacks!” Fain barked. Nuria picked him up into her arms, stroking his back gently.

“No matter what, you never attack another shapeshifter.” A tear rolled down her dark cheek. ”The village elders will decide if your temper is a threat.”

She carried him home and picked out new clothes for him. He dressed in silence, shoulders slumped, his eyes still grey from sadness and shame.

DiceGames: Vixi's Promise

This is my second entry to Lady Antimony's DiceGames challenge. You throw a dice and look up the corresponding prompt from Lady Antimony's list. For this week, I rolled number one: “Sometimes it's easier just to let them die...”

P.S. Number 17 is an unlucky number in Italy because XVII can be rearranged to "VIXI", which means “I have lived” (implying “I am dead”) in Latin. That's where Vixi's name comes from.

“The deity promised me power.” The mage’s voice was taut with apprehension. “He spoke nothing of skeletal demons.”

Lheyr stared from somewhere beyond the empty eye sockets. The demon cocked his horned head a little; humans were so impatient, especially the ones who already had power. “Think of me as your guide through this process.”

“Process?” The mage’s fingers curled into fists, knuckles whitening. “Speaking to your god was hard enough. I prayed in his temple every day for 17 years before he answered. What more is there?”

“You need to tap into demonic magic.” A bony hand lifted as the demon touched its rib, just where the heart would have been. “Vixi is the god of death, but he is also the lord of demons. Our power is his power.”

The mage fell silent, his face obscured by the shadow of his hood. Yet Lheyr could sense apprehension and fear. Ribs expanded as the demon drew air, a memory of the time it had been human. Like the mage, Lheyr had prayed to Vixi for power and received it. The difference between him and the lesser demons was that he knew how to use that power.

Yes, he wielded power ruthlessly; even the other skeletal demons cringed at his actions.

He waited for the mage to seek out demonic magic. Like the elements, it was there, you just needed to take hold of it. But unlike the elements you could cast any kind of spell with it. The only downside was that you turned into a demon in the end, but it was downside only to those afraid.

“Use it, feel the magic taint your soul,” he whispered.

Lheyr watched the mage flinch as he felt the touch of evil magic, but he continued on; twin flames erupted from his palms, spreading darkness instead of light.

“More,” the demon spoke softly.

The flames grew, their darkness enveloped the mage, but Lheyr could still see him. Arms held out, head tilted slightly back, they were always dramatic.

The flames flickered.

“When—?“

“When I say you’re done. More power.” Lheyr began calling his own magic, drawing deep from the murky core of his being. Users of demonic magic didn’t turn into demons suddenly, there were stages. First you had nightmares; eventually the horrors of the demonic world would become reality. The last stage before the change was the most frightful; demons could see the unwary user of their magic and begin dragging him or her into the demonic world.

The mage flinched as another skeletal demon touched his arm with a clawed finger. Perhaps this one would cross of his own free will.

But the flames died abruptly.

“This is not what I asked for! I will not become a demon for the sake of power!”

Lheyr stood still, hollow eye sockets staring at the outraged mage. Everyone knew Vixi’s promises came at a price, but how high, they couldn’t possibly foresee.

“The pact must be honoured.” Lheyr’s arms lifted, fingers reaching towards the mage, then twisting back as he stole away the hapless man’s life force.

“Fight me! Turn into a demon or die!” Lheyr’s bony jaws twisted into a smile. “Either way the master shall have you!”

“I will not become like you.” The mage called on his own magic, fire sparked between his hands growing into a ball of flames. Lheyr scoffed at the feeble display of power. Why did they always choose a flashy spell? All pomp and no power got you killed when facing a demon.

“The strongest demons are second only to the gods themselves. You want power, become one of us!”

The mage threw the flame, striking Lheyr in the face, but the demon continued on, ignoring the soot on its skull. It continued on sapping the life from the mage, bit by bit, and scattered it to the four winds. A demon did not require life force, it fed on pain and despair.

One final time he repeated the offer, “Join us.”

“No.” The mage whispered. He crumpled down into an unmoving heap. Lheyr nudged the corpse with a clawed toe. No reaction. Another skeletal demon, this one resembling a snake with bony arms and an oxen head, stared at him.

“Son, tell the missus that we don’t need prey. Another one died.” The demon crossed his arms. “I looked forward to teaching possession to a new demon.”

Lheyr would stand vigil until his god raised the mage from the dead. Vixi would have a new servant and the mage would have power, the pact would be honoured, though not as the mage had intended. Lheyr sighed and shook his head; sometimes it was just easier to let them die.

Friday Flash: The Dragon Dance

Again, a follow up to my previous friday flash, Light and Dark. Bear with me, there's only three of these left.

Nuria stepped lightly on to the red circle, marking the centre of the Ruby Scales village. The circle was formed of red rocks of varying shades. She lifted her arms up, letting the watchers take in her ceremonial dress; red silks caressed the earth, a belt of red scales adorning her hips. The top half was made of dragon scales as well, sown into the form of a dragon spreading its wings, neck rising towards her face.In the south women danced and afterwards their husbands danced for them, though in a different manner.

But she was in the North; she danced for the dragons, celebrating the pact between shapeshifters and the dragons. As the drumming began, she dropped the left side of her hip then the right, mimicking the lumbering walk of the dragon. Her arms and shoulders moved upwards, then downwards, fluid as a snake in the water. The rhythm of the drum sped up, she began to walk. She rose to the tips of her toes, arms reaching for the sky. As the drumming began to slow down, she spun round once and fell to the ground her back arched, arms folded against her sides.

Howling, roars and others sounds rose from the crowd of shapeshifters. Her smile was polite, until she spotted her partner Fain, sitting between another human and a bright yellow bear. Her eyes narrowed a little as her smile widened. He got up, ran into her arms and whispered sweet nothings into her ear.

“Meet me back home?” The crowd had begun to disperse; a pink wolf stalked past them, chuckling.

“I promised to watch Orri’s child.” Fain smiled; the eight-year-old Nell had taken instant liking to him. “He’s off courting Lizell.”

“Good, we aren’t meant to live alone.” She stroked his cheek gently, before walking past him towards their home. As she pushed the door open a hand descended on hers.

“Hello, Nuria.”

“Go away, Jark.” She stepped over the threshold, but he followed.

“I wonder how Fain the Faint bound the beauty to him?”

She turned to face him. His true form was a great, white bear, but now he was human. Handsome in someone else’s eyes, but to her he was a nuisance.

“I would rather question my right to bind his heart to mine. I will likely die decades before him, because of my human blood.” She sighed; shapeshifters were all a mix of species. The more shapeshifter was in you, the slower you aged. “I hope I have enough dragon or shapeshifter in me to live as long as he does.”

He dismissed her words. “I do not think he will stay sane enough to be in a relationship. I wonder what will happen when you tell him that his village was destroyed. He’d have been a child then, ripe for plucking from human point of view.” A shiver of disgust went through him. “Bloody humans. Your Fain somehow escaped the attack and wandered in the White for years. Or he was abducted by those from Mt.Noir, escaping when it was burned.”

“He’s strong enough to take the form of a fool’s dragon.” Her heart sunk. Fain, her partner, could not have been kidnapped as a child; he did not deserve such a past. “He could have survived…”

“Remember the one who also escaped? The poor thing would attack anyone who looked at him the wrong way. We had to send him into the Ice Barrens to die, poor thing.” His blue eyes glinted with malice. “I heard Fain hurt another trainee during battle practise. Arnie said something about black dragons being evil.”

“He just scratched Arnie’s arm, it healed quickly like all shapeshifters’ wounds. Do not hint that he would harm me. I love him for his kindness.” She smiled; when he wasn’t with her, he could be found playing with the children. “He’s good with the little ones, though he is horrible at the game they play, tag was it called?”

“He’s run into me twice.” Jark crossed his arms.

“He always runs into someone or something when one of the children chases him. Usually a wall.” She chuckled at the image. “I think he does it on purpose, to make the children laugh.”

“He may be kind and gentle now. Yet when he finds out what happened to his tribe?” He took a step towards her. She stood still, stopping any further advance with an icy glare.

“He will stay here with us. He is happy with me.” Hatred resonated in her voice and emanated from her face, yet he still persisted. “Go away. I heal wounds and am averse to inflicting them. But I make an exception with morons.”

“You just tease, beauty…”

She felt his hand on her wrist; quickly she slapped her hand over his, locking his hand in place. She lifted her arm over her head and spun round gracefully, in one fluid movement she brought her arm down and with it Jark who still gripped her wrist.

She stared at his eyes, dark red with anger. Hers had not changed. Control your emotions, use speed and grace. Anger and rash actions will lead to your defeat.

“My mother taught me how to bring an attacker to the ground. She also taught me how to rip off the sword arm. Do not trifle with me.”

Jark stared for a moment, the red slowly changing into a dark blue. He got up and smiled to her as if nothing had happened, then walked off.

Nuria shook her head; Jark would not give up so easily. Likely he would try to aggravate her Fain into a fight. Hopefully he would resist the urge to punch the moronic shapeshifter in the face.

The Daily Grain

This is my entry to the First Campaigner Challenge of the Writers’ Platform-Building Campaign.

The door swung open, in a blur of brown the virra bird flew through. It hid atop a decorative cabinet and listened.

“Root of the Healing Tree, amber, tooth from a black sea serpent and the book.” The bird could imagine the merchant rubbing his sweaty palms together, purring over the payment. “You’re all set for the summoning.”

“I won’t be doing the summoning.” Another voice, this one a woman’s, laughed. The virra peeked over the decoration, a glint caught its eye; a bloodstone set in a gold ring adorned the woman’s index finger. The bird followed the hand as it fell to the woman’s hip, fingers curling around a sheathed dagger. “I was sent at the Queen’s behest, a task of utmost importance.”

Quickly the virra scrambled backwards, shrinking into a tiny ball. It shrank further as the screams of the merchant sliced through the air. Silence fell; the bird stood still, time passed.

“Just another day’s work,” it heard the Queen’s assassin mumble as her footsteps receded.

The door swung shut, the virra waited for a moment. Then, spreading its wings, the bird flew out of a hole in the window, shouting:

“Knowledge for sale, knowledge for grain!”

DiceGames: The Ratter

This is my first entry to Lady Antimony's DiceGames challenge; there will be one for every monday of September. You throw a dice and look up the corresponding prompt from Lady Antimony's list. The rules are here. For this week, I rolled number one: "You've woken up to discover you're a rat - what's happening?"

His little heart flung itself against his ribs like a bird in a cage. Smells and sounds befuddled his senses, everything was happening too fast. He had to change back, but found he couldn’t.

“Allera! Why are you doing this to me? Let me change back!” He squeaked upwards, hoping the sorceress would answer his plea, but she only laughed.

“This is your punishment, fool!” Her cold, green eyes stared down from high up. “I saw what you did.”

“But—”

“I will let you change back once you’ve found the hairpin I lost in the vegetable garden.” Her perfect lips formed a circle as she spoke, “Go.”

What good is being a shapeshifter when your magic can be blocked by a sorceress? He shook his pointy head. He should have left the first time this happened.

The shapeshifter in rat form scuttled under the backdoor. He stood for a moment, sniffing the air for cats or the neighbour’s ratter. Birds he couldn’t smell, he would just have to spot the shadow of the predator before the claws caught him.

Fighting down the urge to grab and eat the beetle that skittered past, he scurried to the far end of the vegetable garden. It wasn’t huge, but he would do better to be meticulous in his search. One row at a time he searched for the elusive hairpin.

Why does she even have one? Her silken brown hair didn’t need any adornments.

The hairpin wasn’t in the field of peas or in the row of beef tomatoes. Desperately he climbed onto a cabbage. His little claws sunk into the tender plant as he balanced on his hind legs.

Swaying back and forth atop the mound of green he failed to notice the shadow passing over him. A shrill cry alerted him; quickly he pulled his claws free and jumped to the ground.

Oh no, not a…

In a flurry of brown the little bird landed in front of him. Before he could run and hide, squeaky words burst from the grey beak: “She cast you out again! The Sorceress cast you out again!”

“Shut up, virra.” The stubby front legs were just long enough to cover his ears.

“I have a name, you know.” The bird mercifully fell silent for a moment.

“Shut up!” he shouted; the bird had opened its beak to speak again. The ball of feathers looked insulted.

“No, it’s Yeolde, and I have what you seek.” The bird held up a spindly grey leg, revealing a decorative hairpin. The thin claws holding the pin spread, but hairpin did not fall. “It’s stuck until you remove it, but you have to be severely annoyed.”

Rats did not communicate with facial expressions, but somehow he managed to convey the emotion to the virra.

“I see you are in the correct frame of mind. Take the thing; I need to earn my daily grain.”

He cringed at his pink foreleg; this wasn’t his true form. He had to change back soon, or the need to chew something, anything, would become overwhelming.

How other beings survived living in one shape was beyond his understanding. Likely ignorance kept them placate, stupidity in some cases. Allera the Sorceress was different; she was a powerful earth mage. She could encase herself in the life essence of an animal, thus becoming it. Although her magic was different from shapeshifter magic, the end result was much the same.

It had been her magic and the way she wielded it that had drawn him to her. He had been her apprentice for years, fetching herbs from deepest woods, taking care of the garden, keeping the house clean, all just to be close to her.

He squeezed himself under the door, the accursed pin held firm in his grasp. She waited for him, arms crossed across her chest.

“Go look for my ring,” she spoke without looking at him.

“Yes, exalted sorceress.” He sighed; she didn’t care to hear her real or her pet names when she was angry.

“Watch out for the cat.”

“Yes… Wait, the cat?” He froze, this was going too far.

“The neighbour’s cat has been skulking around. I’ll deal with the feline if he becomes too interested in you.” Stifled anger was clear in the tone of her voice.

“I am not going through this again.” Something in his voice moved her. Slowly she lowered her gaze, her arms falling down into her lap. “What exactly did I do wrong?”

“I saw how you looked at that bitch.” She looked away; he followed her gaze to the window. Outside a pitch-black rat-dog was busy digging.

“I may be able to take the form of a dog, but I am not interested in them!” He felt repulsed at the thought; him, a noble shapeshifter, able to take form of a wolf, looking lustily at a dog? Ugh. “Even if I were, I have you. You’re beautiful and talented in magic. I couldn’t believe my luck when you asked me ‘how do shapeshifters court?’”

He could feel the spell lifting from his shoulders. With joy he changed back into his true form, a human. He walked on two legs, he had hands again, and he could smile with his lips and kiss his lovely wife.

“You said the shapeshifters of the Southern Plains bring a piece of fresh meat to their loved one. But you didn’t live in the plains anymore.” She smiled, her eyes the colour of the forest lighting up. “Then you kissed me.”

Gently his arms slid around. Her cheek rested against his chest, so soft and warm. How she could have thought him stupid enough to look at another female, he could not understand.

“Don’t belittle yourself, dear wife,” he whispered into her ear. “The enchantment you cast has not faded.”

Friday Flash: Light and Dark

Another flash from Fain's life. This is a follow up to my previous friday flash, Alhena.

A rut was beginning to form on the soft summer ground as the shapeshifter in drake form stomped back and forth. The form was tough to achieve even with decades of practise; only a dragon form was stronger.

“I am Ragh, head of the Guardians of the Red Dragons,” the drake snorted, it’s threading slowly coming to a halt. “I’m the one responsible for whipping you weaklings into shape.”

Fain swallowed hard. This had been Alhena’s idea; he suspected the red dragon and his partner Nuria had plotted this together. It would keep him busy for two summers, but he would return home for the winters.

“You are not one of the Ruby Scales.” Ragh had stopped in front of him. Coal-black eyes stared at him from atop a blunt scaly snout. “Name and tribe?”

“I am Fain of the Leather Wing tribe. We guard the black dragons.” His fingers twitched as he fought the change. Whenever upset, his fingers would change into cold blue claws. In an animal form the change wouldn’t be formidable, but his ‘true form’ was human.

“Not the Shadows upon the Sun?” A black forked tongue slid from the maw, tasting the air for sings of lying. “Good. They should be hunted down for aiding the evil God in his war.”

Anger flared in Fain’s heart. He quenched it too late; Ragh had spotted the outrage on his face. A smooth, cold hand grabbed his hand and lifted the icy blue talons into view. Ragh studied the hand for a moment before speaking. “You feel strongly about the blacks. Most of them aren’t evil, I can give you that.”

He let Fain’s hand fall, looking into the young shapeshifter’s light brown eyes before continuing. “The children of dragons have four enemies: each other, giant ants, vampbirds and poachers, although you don’t see much of the latter nowadays. Some cruel single-form decided it’d be easier to capture our young and force them into the shape of dragon, and— Get up! You’ll face crueller things while protecting the dragons!” The old warrior grabbed a dark green panther by the scruff of the neck. He stared into the lidded eyes until they opened. “Are you cut out for this, boy?”

“Yes,” the panther spoke in a hiss. They stared at each other for a moment. Abruptly Ragh released his grip and the panther fell to the ground with a loud thud.

“Remember, when facing a human do not think of their wife and children.” A sharp talon drew a line across the dirty green throat. “Think of the dragons, or your kin if the lizards do not evoke loyalty. The dragons protect us during the Long Night. Without their aid, the creatures of the dark will slip into your homes, kill and eat your family. Some of them walk on two legs. Remember what they did to the—”

Ragh cast a look at Fain, shaking his head as he swallowed the words. Others were looking at him; pity mixed with apprehension. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ragh spoke first.

“Watch.” The arrow-shaped head came down to touch the scaly chest. Arms extended before him, two black claws reaching for each other until they touched. Power sparked in the air as the drake form shapeshifter drew the claws apart. Two shapes, one golden, the other black, formed in between. Wings grew from the backs, necks extended reaching for each other. Two legless dragons squirmed in the air for a moment before Ragh banished them.

“We shapeshifters cannot control the elements around us, our magic comes from the inside. But we can use the innate magic of the form we’ve taken: dragons can belch fire and sea serpents breathe water. We can also extend our magic outside of ourselves to create barriers and illusions. You are going to attempt the hardest illusion. It’s old Dragon Guard magic, used to scare off… pretty much anything.”

“Light and Dark?” The panther asked.

“Yes, you are going to create two dragons. Not real ones, were not reaching for divinity. Only illusions. But because of what we’re doing they’ll look and feel real. You are going to reach down inside of yourself and use what’s good, pure and such to create the dragon Light. Then comes the hard part: you have to fight down your revulsion and use the darker side of yourself to create Dark. Fain, you try first.”

Fain fell inside of himself with ease, he swam in the sweet memories of Nuria’s lips upon his, their first night together and her promise to be his.

From somewhere outside of himself he heard a faint raspy voice: “Remember the darkness.”

Regretfully he drew back. Elation still flowed through his veins; nothing was dark enough to drag him down. Without fear he plunged into the dark memories, thinking Nuria’s love could shield him from anything.

He was wrong.

Pain and fear struck him. There was a time when one always followed the other. He found a deep-rooted hatred for the humans who did this to him. He remembered demons, burning buildings and evil.

Opening his eyes for a second, he saw two dragons, both the size of a war steed standing before him. The other emanated a light from deep beneath its golden scales; a swanlike neck craned above, warm eyes stared down at him. Light. The dragon next to it seemed to suck any light into the blackness of its skin. It was the embodiment of all the pain he’d suppressed. Dark.

I want to forget! The loss of his memory had been a blessing. Something horrid had happened during those years he did not remember. I will forget!

“Are you alright?” A myriad of faces stared down at him, foremost Ragh’s ugly visage. His carrion breath made Fain choke on the words, but he managed to spit them out.

“I am not using that spell ever again!”

Yet he knew he might have to. At the end of training he would vow to die for the dragons. Facing a few suppressed memories should have been easy, but he would rather face death than the horrors he’d seen.